Chapter 4: The Chain

Hinata wound the cold silver chain once around her fist.

The links bit into her palm, and the ring at his throat tugged very slightly.

"Hold still," she said, her pulse kicking as she gave the chain a deliberate pull.

"I am yours to command," said Valdemar.

He was on his knees on her narrow cot, his black hair spilling over his shoulders, and the lantern turned his skin to bronze.

He was looking up at her.

"I haven't done this in a while," she admitted. "Not with an emperor. Not with a person I met yesterday."

"I have not done it with anyone since the Hunt." His voice was low. "I will do whatever you tell me. I mean it. Tell me, and I will do it."

Her heart slammed.

She pulled gently on the chain, and he came forward, and she kissed him.

It was nothing like the first time.

The first kiss had been a surprise, and this one was a decision.

His mouth opened under hers, and she tasted wine and salt and something warmer underneath.

He did not touch her yet.

His hands stayed on his thighs, flat and tense, and she could feel what it cost him.

"Put your hands on me," she breathed against his lips.

"Tell me where."

"Everywhere."

His hands came up and spread over her ribs, and the shock of them went through her.

They were big, scarred and careful, and they were shaking.

"You are cold," he said.

"I'm always cold. It's my one flaw."

"It is the first thing in eight months I would call a gift."

He drew her tunic up, slowly, and she lifted her arms to help.

The air touched her bare skin, and then his mouth did.

He kissed her collarbone and the soft hollow under it, and then lower, and her fingers dug into his hair.

"Valdemar."

"Again," he said into her skin.

"Valdemar."

"Again. I had forgotten how my name sounded."

She laughed, and the laugh broke in the middle because his mouth had found the curve of her breast.

His tongue circled her nipple until it peaked hard.

He took his time.

He was patient in a way that frightened her, because he seemed to have no end of it, and she was already unraveling.

Every time her breath caught, he stopped and licked that spot again.

She slid down onto the blanket without noticing, and he followed, and the chain between them swung and rang against the cot frame.

"Tell me what you like," he murmured. "I have only my hands and mouth, and eight months of hunger."

"You have lovely hands."

"They are yours."

"Then touch me here."

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